The Legacy of Angrond Winterheart
by Umaril
Summary: The tale of Angrond Winterheart, Nord ranger
1. Prologue: A Ranger

**Prologue: A Ranger**

Angrond looked up. The stars shone bright overhead. It was a cold, Frostfall night in Skyrim and the barks of wolves could be heard in the woods below. This man was a hunter, a warrior and an archer all in one. He was a Ranger. He studied the plains below, his steel blue eyes hunting frantically for his quarry. Then he saw it, a huge, hulking mass of grey flesh trying feebly to sneak along behind a rocky outcrop. Angrond slid gracefully down the slope of the mountain and took cover behind a tree. The ogre had tried to rob his catch the night before and Angrond had been tracking him ever since, following the creature's huge footprints in the deep snow of the Jerrall Mountains.

No longer trying to hide, the Ranger stepped out from his cover and loosed a poison tipped, steel arrow at the unfortunate ogre, hitting him square in the forehead. The creature slowly tipped over sideways and landed with a crash on the hard floor of a frozen pond, breaking the ice and sinking to the bottom. Angrond was tired now and needed to rest. He laid out his bedroll onto the hard snow beside the pond and slept the rest of the night, visions of his violent past streaming into his mind.

His mother and father lived simple lives in the woods near Riften. It was uneventful except for the odd sighting of a bear or wolf, which his father dispatched easily. When Angrond was born, his father was already old and was losing his skills as a woodsman. His mother had developed a terminal illness not long after his birth and had to be looked after constantly. When he was five years old his mother died and his father just seemed to give up on life and sent him away to his uncle in Winter Hold in the far North of Skyrim. The young Nord was taught his family's skills there and learned the hard way about living in freezing conditions.

After six years his uncle also died and he decided to return to Riften to seek out his father. Upon returning he was overjoyed to see that his father still lived. The old man, now sixty-five years, granted Angrond with a family heirloom, a huge Nordic longbow. The bow was made of the finest yew and many carvings were engraved upon it. A wolf's head was depicted on the front with eyes of sapphire and teeth of diamond. The bow was strung with the hair of a Minotaur and was varnished with Druegh Wax. It was one of the finest bows in Skyrim at the time even though Angrond didn't know.

Angrond spent three years with his father, helping him hunt and cook meals every day. One day however, in the second year of his stay in the heart of winter, a huge man clad in furs and leather knocked on the wooden door of the cabin. It was Angrond's father who opened it and invited the giant of a man in out of the cold. He refused to go inside, but instead brought the old man outside and began talking to him. Angrond listened intently through the thin glass windows and learned that an argument had started.

"You old fool!" the man was saying. "I know you killed that woman!"  
"I don't know what you are talking about!" shouted his father back and Angrond knew he was telling the truth, for his father never killed anyone except for someone that threatened his life.  
"She was my daughter, only looking for food in the woods and you had to kill her. Now I have come for revenge!"  
"I don't understand..." his father began, only to be cut off by a bearded axe in the throat.

Angrond slumped helplessly to the cold floor. The only person left in his life was now gone. He knew he could do nothing. He wasn't strong enough to stand up to this barbaric man. A loud creaking noise brought him back to his senses; the man was opening the door!

The man walked into the room, his dark green eyes scanning the house up and down. Angrond, hiding in a huge pelt basket, was shaking with fear. The man's axe hung by his side, dripping with the blood of Angrond's father, as he rummaged through the weapon chest near the door. Angrond then remembered his longbow, it was underneath his bed, luckily enough, and not in the chest. The giant found nothing of use in the house and decided to leave, slamming the door and nearly knocking it off its hinges. Angrond never forgot that day and dreamt about it ever since.


	2. Chapter One: Leifskull's Rest

**Chapter One: Leifskull's Rest **

These memories never left Angrond as he grew older. Now a man of twenty-seven, Angrond had been hired by a nobleman named Jorgren Leifskull to rescue his son from a nearby cave. Coldhollow Cave it was called and was full of Trolls. Their chieftain; Murgaz was well known by the people of Leifskull's Rest as an evil creature, clever and greedy. One day, Jorgren's son was out playing with his friends. He didn't see the trolls sneaking up behind him and was snatched away to the creature's lair. Luckily, his friends escaped and informed the landlord of the abduction. Word had also reached the nobleman's ears of the travelling ranger, Angrond Winterheart, and he sent riders out to look for him.

Angrond awoke in the early morning. The clouds were moving swiftly overhead and the birds were singing in the trees. He packed away his gear and made for the pass to Leifskull's Rest, the only village for miles around and the place where he had been hired for his assignment. After a mile or so the village came into view. Smoke could be seen rising from a few small, ramshackle huts huddled together in a circle. A great manor house stood on the western side and a church was built beside it. People in the street stopped to watch as Angrond gave two sharp raps on the door of the manor house.

A Nord with a handsome, well-chiselled face answered the the door.  
"Ah yes! You must be Angrond, the man we've all been waiting for." He said. "Come, have a seat. I will be with you in just a moment." The man hurried off into the kitchen. Angrond sat down on a chair in the living-room. He looked around and saw many plaques and stuffed heads along the walls and a huge claymore above the fireplace.  
"From what I can see you don't really need my help at all." Called Angrond. The landlord appeared around the corner with a tray of sweetrolls and he looked up at the walls.  
"Oh, those!" He said. "I didn't earn them, they're my ancestors. Anyways, I'm no fighter like any of them; I can hardly swing a sword let alone kill something!" He handed the tray to Angrond and he wolfed the rolls down hungrily. "Well then, let's get to business."

Jorgren told the ranger about the troubles plaguing the small hamlet and the abduction of his son.  
"The boy is only seven," he said. "He shouldn't have to go through all this."  
"These trolls will be dealt with appropriately," said Angrond. "And your son will be brought back safe and sound. I will make for the cave tomorrow morning. For now however I will stock up on supplies and get to know the locals a small bit better." With that, the ranger left the manor house and walked out onto the street.

Angrond made his way to the tavern, his favourite place in any town and the only place to get real rumours. The locals seemed friendly enough and all had heard about the abduction. Angrond sat down beside an old elf with a battle-hardened face.  
"So, you're the great ranger they've all been talking about." He said. Angrond nodded. "And you are going in search of the lord's son." Again Angrond nodded. "I was a ranger once. Got a job just like that many winters ago and I'll never forget it. The lord's son was taken on the tenth of Last Seed; the same day Jorgren's son was taken. It was Murgaz, the troll chieftain and no-one dared go near the cave. I had settled down here at the time and was almost ready to retire, hoping for a long, well-earned rest. However, Lord Leifskull could not find anyone to hunt the beast, so I volunteered and tracked it down in Coldhollow Cave. The troll was fierce, it tore off half of my leg, as you can see, and I just barely escaped." He showed Angrond the wooden stump he had for a leg. "The only advice I can give you," he continued," is that you shouldn't take this troll as any normal beast. He is cunning and will try to defeat you by whatever means, even if it involves destroying his own kin."  
"Do not worry, I will take your words to heart my friend." said Angrond. "I am leaving for the cave tomorrow morning but first I must purchase some equipment. Farewell and safe journeys to you." Angrond strode out into the snow and made his way across the village to the traders, hoping to replenish his now empty quiver and to repair his notched longsword.


	3. Chapter Two: The Road to Coldhollow

**Chapter Two: The Road to Coldhollow **

Angrond looked at the weapons displayed on the rack. There were some fine quality longswords there and all were at a fair price. Some Silver arrows were on a table with a steel bow. After searching through all of the gear he picked out fifty silver arrows, a beautiful steel longsword with a red leather grip and a silver dagger, which he strapped to his leg, just below his knee. The trader looked amazed at Angrond as he took a huge bag of gold from his backpack and threw a fistful of coins on the counter. Angrond walked out of the shop, glad that he had bought the fine weapons.

The young ranger stayed the night at Highwind Inn, a nice cosy place near the manor house. The Innkeeper; Marlond, was a very fussy man and insisted that Angrond take off his boots before he walked in. However, his room was very large and was lit with a warm fire. He had a comfortable sleep and arose early the next morning.

Angrond went to the old elf's house the next morning. He was preparing a beef stew over the fire and did not hear the ranger come through the door. He examined the house and spotted two longbows above the mantle, both crafted beautifully and taken care of well. A stuffed minotaur head was hung above the door and many assorted alchemical ingredients and potions were on a table in the corner.

"Hello again." said Angrond. The old man jumped with fright.  
"Well, you really do have the skills of a ranger." He said, straightening up." I never heard you coming in."  
"I am here to find the directions to Coldhollow; I presume you know where that is." Angrond said sarcastically.  
"Give me your map; I'll mark it for you." He took a small black stone from his pocket and marked an 'X' on the crumpled parchment not far from Leifskull's Rest. "Also you might take some of my potions or poisons with you on your expedition." He picked up some bottles from the small table and handed them to Angrond. "The poisons are quite useful taking out the big, slow brutes and you may need some healing potions as well."   
"Thanks again for the advice, my friend, it could prove invaluable." said Angrond and he set off down the road to Coldhollow Cave. 

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Angrond pulled open the rickety door. The unmistakable stench of trolls was terrible, but he was going to have to bear it. He lit a torch and crept inside. After a while of wandering, he came across a large chamber with a small fire lit in the centre. Two trolls patrolled around it, wearing black headbands and carrying crude maces. Generally trolls are not accustomed to weapons but some of the more experienced trolls are. Angrond snuck to just outside the firelight, waiting to pounce. He loosed an arrow at the nearest one and killed it dead. The other troll then ran to where the ranger had been hiding, but Angrond had already moved to the other side of the fire. He shot the second troll and retrieved his two arrows.

After killing five more trolls, Angrond approached many small cages hung from the ceiling. He heard a voice calling for help and rushed to one of the cages. The young Leifskull was in the cage, like a skeleton he was, starving in the dark. The ranger looked for a key but to no avail. He tried forcing the lock but a shout in the trollish tongue was heard not far down the passage, followed by many others. They were coming!


	4. Chapter Three: Fight in the Caves

**Chapter Three: Fight in the Caves **

Angrond waited near the doorway to the prison room. The trolls were getting nearer; their cries were not far off now. Angrond figured there were nine in all and judging by the clanging, heavily armoured as well. The young ranger had learned a thing or two about the troll language in his travels and could decipher some of their speech.  
"The sacrifice isn't very good this year is it?" Said one.  
"No, Murgaz will not be pleased. Not at all. Furvak will not be pleased with Murgaz either, if it is anything like the last time. That boy was weak and did not provide a strong enough sacrifice for our Unholiness." Said another.  
"Well, we'd better hope that he won't take it out on us!" Said the first.

Preparing a tripwire trap as he listened, Angrond signalled the little boy to keep quiet and not show up his position. The first troll came around the corner just as the ranger finished the trap, and began to sniff the air.  
"I wouldn't be surprised if he is dead already if the smell in here is anything to ----"He was cut off as a trollish mace crushed straight into his face; the trap had worked. Angrond ran from his cover and shoved his longsword into another troll's neck. Another mace swung towards Angrond, barely missing his exposed arm but lodging itself in the cave floor. The ranger, reacting quickly, severed the troll's head from it's short neck and it fell with a dull thud into the dirt. A monster; covered head to toe in heavy plate armour, rushed Angrond with all speed, crashing him into the sandstone wall. He felt a rib break from the impact but returned to his feet and began circling the troll, searching for a weak spot. He searched blindly along the wall for a long object, something to pierce the troll's armour. His hand hit a spear shaft and he bought it up, just in time to deflect a blow from a huge battleaxe.

The battleaxe severed the spear shaft, but left a sharp tip on the piece of wood. Angrond threw it with all his strength and it pierced the amour just below the chest. The creature slumped to the ground clutching the shaft and Angrond finished him off. The other trolls were a piece of cake to the ranger at this stage and he killed them all with ease. He searched the corpses for a key. On the body of the armoured troll he found it; along with some gold pieces. The boy was overjoyed when he freed him and ran without hesitation back to Leifskull's Rest. Angrond however, had business to attend to and explored the further reaches of the cave, searching for Murgaz.

A few minutes later, Angrond arrived at a small opening in the wall; just large enough for a troll to fit through. A loud murmur hummed from inside. Then, it all went silent. A huge voice moaned out and a clashing of weapons was heard.  
"Trolls, we have gathered here tonight to celebrate our lord Furvak. A mighty warrior was he. He drove the snowmen from Gurgalaz and claimed it for us. Now we praise him with a sacrifice." The voice was obviously that of Murgaz's. "Guards!" he called. "The boy!" This was the signal for the trolls to bring out the young Leifskull, but now that they were not here, Angrond chose to make his appearance.

Murgaz turned around to look in the doorway for the guards but was stopped in his tracks when a poisoned arrow hit him in the eye. He fell to the ground howling. The small audience went berserk and began searching frantically for the assassin, but to no avail. For Angrond was already running along the stone passages back to the outside world. He could see the light shining through the rotted boards of the cave entrance but the thought of many trolls chasing not far behind made him just burst through them and out into the snow.


	5. Chapter Four: A Village Destroyed

**Chapter Four: A Village Destroyed**

Sprinting his hardest up the road, Angrond saw the Leifskull boy strolling along the path and whistling as he went. He picked him up, slung him on his back and continued on. It began snowing extremely hard and it became difficult to see. To make things worse; the trolls were catching up on them. Angrond knew he couldn't out-run them, for trolls are very fast and agile. The snow would not hinder them either and the boy was growing heavy on the ranger's shoulders. He would have to make a stand and fight them. 

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The boy was safely in his hiding place: a small tree from which to throw stones if the fight did not go their way and Angrond was crouched behind a stone with an arrow notched, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. It was not long before the trolls came and when they did, they came in numbers. About twenty trolls raced by at full speed; not noticing the two Nords. Angrond decided not to attack but to follow instead. He waited a few minutes until they were out of sight and slung the boy on his shoulder again, keeping track of the trolls' wide footprints.

The trolls were getting out of sight now, their hulking forms disappeared over the horizon, but there was one thing that bugged Angrond; they were headed for Leifskull's Rest. A group of trolls could destroy the small village in no time and the only one left to protect it was the old elf ranger.  
"Where's my father?" The boy said. "Is he OK?"  
"We'll see when we arrive," said Angrond. "But I fear the trolls are there already and may be attacking your home as we speak. We must make haste to protect your people and your father." The blizzard had started to recede and they began to move faster. It was nearing sundown; the sun sank in a red haze and lit up the sky. However, the colour from the sun was not the only red they could see. Leifskull's Rest had come into view and some of the nearer houses were on fire, black smoke rose from them and screams pierced the air like arrows. 

Angrond dropped the boy, told him to stay put until the fight was over and sprinted towards the smoking huts, unaware of the shadow following at the side of the road, sneaking behind the rocks. He had begun to unsheathe his longsword when it struck; knocking him to the ground with force. He looked up to see an ugly face with an arrow protruding from one eye. It was Murgaz. The ranger just barely got to his feet in time before it swung it's great arm in a downward movement, cracking the ground with force. His longsword lay about ten yards away so he took out his bow and began firing arrows at the creature until they were spent. Murgaz, now like a pincushion, was staggering about swinging his arms wildly. He made his last charge and knocked Angrond to the ground again. The troll stepped on his longbow and cracked it in half. He loomed over the ranger - his eyes were wide with the excitement of another kill. Angrond was full of rage that this monster had destroyed his family heirloom so he pulled the small silver dagger from his leather boot and stabbed it's head at least twenty times in quick succession. Murgaz fell down to the snow with blood pouring steadily from the large hole in his head. He was dead.

Angrond stood up and examined the bow. It was broken beyond repair but he held on to it still; a memory of his dead father. However, this was not the time for grieving; a village was under attack and needed his aid. He picked up his longsword and hurried toward the hill, stumbling with fatigue.


	6. Chapter Five: The Return Home

**Chapter Five: The Return Home**

Angrond reached the top of the slope panting. All around him houses burned and smoked, and people too were running around frantically trying to extinguish the flames on their clothes and bodies. The trolls ran rampant around the village, terrorizing it's people. Angrond tripped the nearest one with his sword and stuck it through it's heart. He saw a tall figure in the midst of the battle, fighting off many trolls with a flaming torch and a longsword. He set one of them alight and it began to run around madly, squealing with pain. Angrond rushed to help him; it was the old ranger. Sixty years he must have been and still a warrior of great skill.

Taking the dagger out of his boot again, the ranger launched it at the biggest troll, lodging in it's chest. Two of the monsters turned around and rushed at Angrond. He blocked both of their attacks and performed his favourite combo. He jumped into the air and spun with his sword out, slashing both their lungs. He jumped again and kicked each one in the face, knocking them to the ground. Angrond came to the old man's aid not a moment too soon; a troll stood over him with a raised fist. The young ranger hurried across the battlefield and decapitated the creature before it could make it's last move.

Standing side by side, the two men killed the last of the trolls, the elf shoving a torch down its throat. Angrond immediately headed for the manor house. When he walked in however, the young landlord lay dead on living room floor with a bloody and bruised face, the once handsome looks lost to the power of evil. Angrond turned to walk outside but the door opened before he could reach the handle. It was the Leifskull boy. He fell to his knees beside his father's body. The old elf followed in behind, wiping sweat from his forehead. His face too turned grave when he saw the corpse and he knelt in prayer beside the boy. Angrond left them in peace and searched the rest of the house for any straggling trolls. 

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Angrond didn't wait to witness the funeral. He left early the next morning, hoping to arrive at his small wilderness retreat before the next day. He paid a visit to the trader's before he went however, and got himself a new longbow. There was nothing special about it but he wasn't going to spend all his money on one, as he had better bows at his home. He also got his longsword repaired and his boots re-stitched. A long journey lay ahead of Angrond and if he was to arrive before morn he would have to travel at full speed making only brief stops. Along the path leading from the town Angrond met the Elf. He was leaning on his longbow.  
"I had a feeling you'd leave early." He said. "Well, Farewell then, young Angrond. Tread not on dark paths."

Angrond travelled well into the night. He had stopped only once for an hour long rest and his legs were beginning to tire. He arrived at the border of a small wood. The trees were dark and tall and nestled in the centre was his small hut. A fire burned slowly outside and the windows were lit up with candles; Jered was home. Jered was Angrond's apprentice. Well, more his foster-son. One day Angrond was hunting in the wood when Jered stumbled into the trees. He was black and dirty, for his village had been burned to the ground by bandits. He had only just escaped but the bandits were hot on his tail and they carried flaming brands. Angrond hid beneath the cover of the trees and ambushed them, destroying their band in a matter of moments. The next day they went back to the village. It was burned to the ground and there were no survivors. The boy decided to stay with the ranger and had been with him for three years learning the ways of the land before Angrond had taken the Leifskull contract.

Angrond pushed the door open and was welcomed by the smell of cooking venison and many different herbs. Jered had been expecting him for he had two dinner plates on the kitchen table.

"How did you know I was coming" Said the ranger.  
"Frostpaw told me. He followed you since you came in to the wood; I'm surprised you didn't notice." Frostpaw was Jered's pet wolf. He had found him injured on the forest floor one day and raised him as a hunting dog. He also had the uncanny ability to understand human speech.  
"That wolf is the only one that has ever outwitted me. Lucky I'm on his good side." Said Angrond, dishing himself a plate of venison stew. The two of them sat down to their meals and discussed the goings-on of the area. After the meal, Angrond lay down on his straw bed and meditated on the events of the day before, wishing he had only killed the trolls before they reached the town.


	7. Chapter Six: The Messenger

**Chapter Six: The Messenger **

Angrond woke to a rap at the door. He quickly threw a robe over himself and opened the door. On the doorstep stood a man clad in chain mail, he wore a dinted helmet and carried a notched sword. A blue dragon was emblazoned on his cuirass and gauntlets and behind him a horse stood champing the grass. He was panting and looked very weary.

"Are you the ranger - Winterheart?" He asked.  
"Yes, I am the one who you seek, what is the matter?"  
"I was told to seek you out. We were escorting our count to Falkreath when our company was attacked by armoured men. They wore black clothes and armour and bore a silver raven upon their visors. A huge man carried the count away on horseback and the others followed him into the west. The count's steward has asked of you to go to Fort Evermoon; there he will tell you everything. Here, I will mark it on your map."   
"No need." said Angrond. "I already know of it, a few miles to the northeast is it not?"  
"Indeed it is, but please make haste; the steward has need of you and you only, Farewell." With that the soldier mounted his horse and rode off into the rising sun, his blue cloak flapping with the speed of the horse.

Angrond waited to tell Jered about what happened before he set off; following the horse's hoof prints in the snow. He arrived at Evermoon after dusk. The fort was built into a huge lone mountain - it's peak jutting into the clouds. It was built of gigantic blocks of granite and a portcullis covered the main gate. A small stream flowed down from the mountain and around the front of the fort and then snaked it's way across the plains. Angrond stepped across the forded stream and arrived at the main gate. Two soldiers stood upright with spears crossed, guarding the portcullis.

"What business do you have at Fort Evermoon?" The first gate warden said.  
"Your steward has requested that I meet him to discuss the disappearance of your count." Replied Angrond. The warden looked at him with disgust.  
"You're this mighty ranger we've all heard about?" Clearly, he didn't like the way Angrond was clothed. "You don't look so powerful to me."  
"Keep talking like this and I'll show you how powerful I can be!" Said Angrond gritting his teeth.  
"You can't..." The gate warden was cut off by a shout from the gatehouse.  
"Hoy! Cirrus, cut the crap and let him in!" The messenger who had informed Angrond about the disappearance was atop the gatehouse wall, turning the wheel to open the portcullis.

The ranger pushed past the guards and opened the main gate. He shouted a quick word of thanks to him and continued on to the fortresses inside door and descended the stairs. A man clad in steel plate armour approached him and signalled him to follow.  
"The Audience chamber." He declared, pointing to a large oak door. Angrond had begun to walk in when the man cleared his throat. "Ahem! Your weapons please!" Angrond gave him the longsword, the arrows and his new bow; however he concealed the small dagger. He pushed the door open and proceeded inside. A warm fire greeted him as he entered and he sat on a huge leather chair in front of the steward's desk.


	8. Chapter Seven: Tale of Andraste Wolfbane

**Chapter Seven: Tale of Andraste Wolfbane**

Angrond observed the audience chamber. It had a beautiful white marble floor with a few rugs of reddish colour strewn about on it. The walls were of granite and many tapestries covered them, all depicting war scenes. In one, there stood a barbarian man holding a bow - remarkably like Angrond's family heirloom - he was atop a mountain of dead bodies. At his side was a longsword with designs matching the bow. Angrond felt strange and wanted a closer look at the tapestry, however, he was interrupted by the steward opening the door behind him.

"Hello, there Angrond." He said." Let me introduce myself; Thorvald, the steward of Fort Evermoon. Now, I have a proposition in which you may be interested." He sat down at the other side of the desk. The steward was a skinny man, almost a skeleton with tightly stretched skin, and he had a large moustache. He wore an outfit of unknown material - some sort of silk - and it had a collar of fur. "As you by now already know, the count was abducted yesterday. Men with dark armour caught us in an ambush; however, it ended quite fast. Once the largest man had picked up the count, they rode off into the west. I have figured out now why they have taken him." He paused and stroked his moustache.  
"Go on." Said Angrond impatiently.  
"Our count is a collector of sorts; he has obtained artefacts that most men could only dream of. On his travels he came across a book, a book referring to a great warrior named Andraste Wolfbane. This man held many great weapons; believed to have forged by Talos' smiths. He found them himself one day in a ruin near Falkreath, almost four hundred years ago. Wolfbane fought the Orcs of Orsinium with these weapons and won many a battle with them. In one great battle however, he and his army were killed and his weapons lost."

"So no-one ever found them again?" asked Angrond.  
"No, supposedly only the count knows about these weapons, on the very day he was taken we searching for clues to their whereabouts. But now it seems that another knows of them as well, the man who sent those warriors after us; Rothvor Throser. A necromancer king - yes, a king, for he has become famous - infamous rather, in the Tamriel and his symbol is a silver raven. We need you to travel to Cyrodiil, to an Ayleid ruin called Lorendava. Throser will be there; you will disguise yourself as a necromancer and meet with him. You must learn the whereabouts of the weapons and why Throser wants them. The count will be there also, you must free him or the whole journey will be a waste. There is a picture here of the weapons, well, the bow at least." Thorval pointed to the tapestry with the barbarian man. A shiver went down Angrond's spine; the bow seemed far too familiar to his liking. 

"That's Wolfbane?" Said Angrond.  
"Yes, indeed it is. He is standing atop a mountain of Orc bodies." Replied Thorval.  
"If I were to learn of and acquire these weapons, how much would be in it for me?"  
"Well, the count would have to be freed first, that alone would earn you three thousand gold pieces, and finding the weapons would earn you let's say...two thousand gold pieces."  
"Well, looks like I'm going to Cyrodiil then. Farewell My Lord!" Angrond rushed out of the chamber with a spring in his step before the steward could say a word.


	9. Chapter Eight: A New Province

**Chapter Eight: A New Province**

He knew it; that bow was his and it was sitting in a chest at his home. However he would have to find all of the weapons for the steward to be happy. Angrond travelled through the night, he arrived back at the house by early morn and retrieved the bow. Jered was out so he left a note on the table:

''Jered, I have to travel to Cyrodiil for there is a necromancer that must be dealt with.  
Why go that far just to find a necromancer, you might ask. Well, let's just say  
he'll be worth his weight in gold.''

Angrond stuffed the bow in his backpack and set off trampling through the wood. 

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Five days later, Angrond crossed the Skyrim border into Cyrodiil. It was much warmer and he found it harder to travel. The snow had started to disappear off the Jerralls and instead a green land was lain out before his feet. He travelled South-East and missed the city of Bruma but arrived instead at a lonely inn. A sign swung in the wind outside and it read: The Roxey Inn. A legion soldier sat on a bench, drinking from a pewter cup.

"Hello there, citizen." He said. "It's good to see a new face around these parts, business is only starting to pick up around here after the Oblivion Crisis."   
"Yes, we had trouble in Skyrim from Oblivion as well, but I hear that a great warrior has closed those demonic gates and sealed them in The Void forever." Said Angrond.  
"True, but a new threat has arisen, what with this necromancer king trying to take over Cyrodiil."  
"You know of him?" said Angrond in a questioning tone.  
"Yes, everyone knows of him, his plots of conquering have drawn in many more necromancers to his armies." Replied the soldier. "They have been attacking legionnaires on the roads all over the province."  
"Well, thanks for the information, farewell." Angrond walked into the inn.

There were a fair few people in the tavern, a young Nord woman stood behind the bar, handing out drinks to some mercenaries. An old redguard man was asleep on a chair near the door and a man wearing a dark hood over his face was sitting in a dark corner watching the door. An old Breton man was lying on his back and draining a barrel of Ale while the mercenaries cheered him on.

"Hey! Baurion, put that barrel down!" The barmaid said in a wicked tone. He dropped it straight away.  
"Sorry!" He said in a small voice. Angrond walked up to the bar and began talking to the barmaid.  
"How much is a room for the night?" He asked.  
"Oh, that'll be ten gold pieces." She replied. 'It's nothing special, but I'm sure you need a rest."  
"I was wondering if you knew anything of the troubles plaguing Cyrodiil from the necromancers.' Said Angrond. The man in the corner straightened up.  
"Well, I've heard of these troubles but I don't know anything about them, sorry." She said in a hushed tone. "Just don't go talking about them freely like that, there's some people going around just like you and they have ended up dead the next day."  
"The Mages Guild, by any chance?" Said Angrond, quieter this time. She nodded.


	10. Chapter Nine: The Necromancer

**Chapter Nine: The Necromancer**

Angrond noticed that the man in the corner was very nervous now. He shook uncontrollably as the ranger began to approach him. Then, with a quick jump, he bolted for the door. Angrond took a bottle of ale from one of the mercenaries and threw it. It spun in the air and smashed on the back of the man's head; knocking him unconscious. Angrond walked over to him and dragged the unconscious heap upstairs to his room. He waited a while until he woke up before cutting his travelling robe with his dagger.

"A necromancer." He declared as he saw the symbol. A claw holding a skull in it's palm, coloured a dull red colour, set on the black background of the robes. The man groaned but he sharpened up when Angrond let a shout at him.  
"Oi! You filthy grave digger! Listen to me!" The man backed up against the wall. "You know where Throser is?"  
"Y...es, I know of him. Plll...ease - don't kill me." A look of severe fright was in his eyes. "He's in Lorendava; it's on an island in the Abecean Sea. I can't say any more, just let me go!"

He threw a fireball, which set Angrond's cloak on fire, and made for the door. Angrond grabbed his leg and hastily put the fire out by stamping on the flames. The man - now on his face on the floor - let out a squeal as the ranger picked him up with one hand. He pulled him back inside the room, put him up against the wooden wall and shoved the dagger through his neck; pinning him to the planks. He took the robes from the corpse and stuffed them in his backpack as they would come in handy when he reached the ruin.

Angrond walked calmly back down the stairs and flipped a coin over to the mercenary off whom he took the ale. He walked outside without a backward glance and made for the open road, for it would be no use staying at the inn as there was a guard standing outside it. He would have to find a campsite this night. About two miles down the road, Angrond came upon a bridge; it was the only bridge in Cyrodiil that spanned the Niben River. A man stood waiting just ahead - a Khajiit in fact - and he drew his battleaxe when he saw the ranger approaching. He rushed forward madly and swung his hardest. Angrond blocked his clumsy attack and simply pushed him over the edge of the bridge, knocking him into the icy depths of the Niben far below.  
"Highwaymen... they never learn."


	11. Chapter Ten: The Niben Valley

**Chapter Ten: The Niben Valley**

Angrond continued along the bridge - Half a mile it must have been - until a fort came into view. The fog made it hard to see but he noticed it was built in the Alessian style. Many ruined watchtowers surrounded it and the fort itself was crumbling with age. A small fire was lit outside it and two men wearing heavy armour sat beside it. Angrond moved closer. The sun was sinking and he would need to set up camp before dark. He drew his bow as one of them stood up and walked out of the ring of firelight. The ranger nocked an arrow and let fly. It punctured the man's rusty iron armour and he fell to the ground, clutching his chest.

Next he moved up behind the second man. He was whistling and didn't hear Angrond sneak up behind. The man had a dagger strapped to his girdle next to a small bag of gold. Angrond had no dagger, as his silver one was holding a necromancer to the wall at Roxey Inn. The ranger took a coin from the bag and threw it at a rock, making a loud 'Ping!' The man turned around and gave a shout.  
"Hey! Korrick, cut it out, you're giving me the shivers, what with these necromancers roaming around!" Angrond quickly pulled the dagger from the belt and stuck it in the man's neck. He held his hand over his mouth so he couldn't warn any other bandits or creatures of his presence. 

Angrond stamped the fire out and laid his bedroll out beside the ashes, hoping for an uneventful night. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He woke early the next morning to the sound of hooves clopping on the road beside him. He grabbed his longsword and leapt to his feet, only to discover that it was a legionnaire on patrol. The soldier didn't notice him and continued along the road, going North-East across the bridge. Angrond packed away his bedroll and other gear and ate some crab meat to give him energy for the long day ahead. He walked westward for about a mile until he came upon a bridge. It crossed the mouth of a small river before it entered Lake Rumare. Before he was halfway across, a bandit emerged from underneath the bridge, shouting warnings for Angrond not to cross. Angrond paid no heed and continued on; recalling the last time someone had tried to stop him on a bridge.

She was a redguard, a young one at that, about the same age as the ranger himself. Her eyes were struck with fear when Angrond approached her. She slowly stepped backwards, unaware of the stone behind her. She tripped and landed on her back. Her mace landed a few inches away and as she reached her hand out to retrieve it, the ranger's muddy boot stepped on her arm. Strangely enough, he didn't kill her. He continued along the path; not even glancing back as she scrambled to her feet. This ranger had more serious matters on his hands than killing a young redguard.

He travelled another half mile until he came upon a crossroads. An old signpost was on the intersection and the names of many towns were written on it. Angrond followed the road leading west, the one going to Skingrad, Kvatch and eventually to Anvil on the Gold Coast; from there he would find a ship leading to Lorendava and the home of Rothvor Throser, Necromancer King.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Skingrad

**Chapter Eleven: Skingrad**

Angrond had walked not far up the road when he heard shouts - a man came tumbling out of the trees - he was upon a horse and held another unmounted one by the reins.

"Run! Run while you still can!" He tried to go past the ranger but he grabbed his arm and pulled him back. The man looked back into the forest, fear in his eyes. "The necromancers are gathering at Fort Vlastarus, they burn every town and settlement within two miles of the place! They killed my family; I'm not going back there, they are probably zombies now, thralls of the necromancers! The Imperial City is the only place safe now, I go there with the only possessions I have left."  
"Give me a horse... Quick!" Shouted Angrond. The man handed him the reins. "What direction are they headed?"  
"West, towards Skingrad, they probably mean to burn it to the ground!" He replied.  
"I must warn them! Go tell Ocato about this, tell him to send the legions to Skingrad; they'll need all the help they can get." Angrond rode up the hill and into The Great Forest.

Hardly a mile up the road he saw them; the necromancer army. The marched rank by rank from the forest on the left hand side of the road. The ranger turned to the right hand side and galloped through the forest, hoping to warn the count of Skingrad before they arrived. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Angrond made it in plenty of time. The necromancers were at least three miles away when he arrived at the gates of Skingrad. He swung the horse underneath a bridge and approached the lower East gate. He stabled the horse and shouted for the Gate wardens to open it. Skingrad was famous for her wines and cheeses and it's cobbled streets were covered in flowers of all kinds. The houses were built of unique stonework and the people were friendly. The Gold Road to Anvil ran through the town, splitting it in two. At either end of the town there was a gate to let it pass through. The church and some of the more run-down houses lay at the Southern side and the shops and expensive houses lay to the North. There was a higher gate just next to the East gate which led to the castle, which was where Angrond was headed.

Angrond turned to the right and sped up the small hill to the higher gate. He pushed it open and crossed the small bridge that he had passed under minutes before. He ran up a higher and steeper hill next until he came upon another bridge; this one was lit with small torches every few feet along the railing. He crossed this bridge and came upon the castle doors. Two guards stood in front of it, wearing the customary colours of Skingrad; red with a silver moon set in a black circle. Before they could stop him, Angrond said;   
"Urgent news for the count - no time to explain." They looked at him in amazement as he pushed past and opened the doors. 

The count was new, for the old one - Janus Hassildor, had died after a horrific ordeal involving vampirism. The legendary Champion of Cyrodiil had helped him discover a cure for him and his wife, Rona. The Champion searched far and wide for the witch Melisande - the only member of the witch cult left that could cure Vampirism. He defeated Hindaril, the most powerful vampire in Cyrodiil at the time, and returned with the vampire's ashes to Melisande. When the cure was prepared, the Champion made his way to Skingrad, unfortunately however, the countess had died of a fever the night before and Hassildor himself died six months later from grief. 

The new count was a man named Vandorallen Trebatius, a former Arena champion that had been kicked out of Rosethorn Manor, - an expensive mansion near the East Gate - only to be crowned count a year later. He was a greedy and confident man that didn't like people who interfered with his business. The citizens of Skingrad had begun to cotton on that he was not the best choice for count and had even led a small rebellion against him not long after he took up the throne. It was not in any way successful however because the town guard dealt with the meagre attacks swiftly. Now that war was upon them, Angrond wondered how he would react under threat.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Dead Flesh and Stone

**Chapter Twelve: Dead Flesh and Stone**

"How many?" The count was sat on his throne and looked in awe as the ranger told him of the necromancers.  
"No less than five hundred, not including their undead minions, I would advise that all of the guard be deployed along the walls." The ranger replied in a strong, ordering voice.  
"And if the walls fail to keep them at bay, what then? The necromancers have ranged spells and they won't be afraid to use them."  
"Then, I reckon, we should defend the gates, and if they too fall, our only hope would be to retreat to the castle and defend it with our lives. The necromancers are not to be taken lightly and we'll need all the fighters we can get."  
"Well, we are not short of warriors in this town. The Mages Guild here are adept at using the destruction magic and will be very helpful, especially against the undead. Our Fighters Guild are also very skilled and the town guard are of the best in the Empire." The count rose from his seat and began pacing up and down along the great hall, scratching his chin with an anxious look on his face. After a minute he looked at Angrond and said: "You will lead them. Your exploits are well known, even here in the Imperial Province. The men will listen, even to a stranger and will not hesitate to fight. Go now and give them battle orders, this may be their last battle. See you at the end - if you make it."

Angrond crossed the torch lit bridge and looked east. In the gathering dark, he saw them, about a mile and a half away now - The Necromancers. A mass of black - darker than the night itself, and behind the veil followed dead flesh; Zombies, skeletons, liches and even fell bird-like lumps of rotted meat which flew ahead as if on lookout. He descended down the hill and crossed the smaller bridge leading into town. Quickly he rallied all of the guard to him. He deployed them on the Eastern walls and made his way to the Mages and Fighters Guilds near the West gate. He glanced upwards as he heard thunder, followed next by a flash of lightning - a storm was brewing in the West Weald.

He pushed open the doors of the Mages Guild and let a shout up the stairs;   
"Necromancers! We are under attack! Order your warriors to the lower East gate; we must repel them before they reach the walls!" Not a minute later the mages were pouring out of the building. They wore the blue robes of their kind and had vengeful looks on their faces. Their guild master, Adrienne Berene, approached Angrond;  
"We have been waiting for this day. They have been threatening it ever since Throser decided to lead them. But if they think they can take the Mages Guild, then they are wrong! To arms!" She ran through the centre of town and stood behind the lower East gate with her guildmates, eagerly awaiting their arch-enemies. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

People began running to their homes when the storm arrived. Vineyard workers pushed through the West gate and the more stubborn ones took shelter in the storehouses outside, obviously awaiting certain death. Lightning struck as the guards nailed huge oak planks to the inside of the gates. Angrond stood atop the eastern wall, arrow nocked, searching for his first kill. The guards looked nervous; they trembled as the black mass drew nearer.

Angrond looked down below to the gate. About ten guards leaned against it and many mages lay in wait behind them. An Argonian archer from the Fighters Guild stood beside Angrond with a claymore in his hands and five battle mages stood beside him. He looked around at every wall - the southern, northern and eastern walls were manned by either mages, guards or fighters and many more warriors stood behind them. A high priest stood atop the spire on the church of Julianos reciting a battle hymn and the anxious faces of women and children peered through the windows of every home.

Faster. They were almost within bowshot now; Angrond could easily make out the shambling figures of zombies and the shadows of the liches - their ethereal forms shifting in the last rays of the miserable grey sunlight - moving through the small valley under the torch lit bridge. Then, the carrion birds attacked. First, they gathered speed. Flying higher into the air, they swooped down upon the walls; claws outstretched. Men swung frantically as the birds clawed at their faces. A large one went for Angrond, its blood red eyes glistening. Angrond loosed an arrow, taking the bird from the air and pinning it to the ground far blow on the other side of the wall. A battle mage near Angrond was stumbling about on the wall, trying to take a creature from it's face. He stumbled on the battlements and toppled over the edge, screaming as he went. Eventually the birds were repelled and a new threat had arisen.

As all the commotion went on at the wall, the defenders failed to notice the core of the undead army push forward. They moved under the torch lit castle bridge almost upon the wall, skeletons began throwing strange hooks, a rusty iron piece shaped into three barbed points, tied to a rough rope. The hooks latched on to the walls, gripping them tightly, and the skeletons began tying the other ends of the ropes to rocks in the ground. The guards tried in vain to remove them from the wall and the skeletons began climbing, their creaking bones held together by the evil powers of magic. The men hacked at the ropes with their swords and loosened but a few before the undead reached the top. Bones flew everywhere as one creature tried to take the ranger - The battle had begun. 

Luckily for the defenders on the wall, the zombies and other creatures could not climb. Instead they battered the gate. Shouts could be heard from below as the made their first strike. The necromancers themselves bombarded the walls with spells. Fireballs and other elemental powers struck many guards from the wall. Angrond killed another skeleton before taking out his bow and firing a few deadly poison tipped arrows at the black-robed mages below. The Argonian beside him was hit by a strange, green orb and he froze up, limbs immobile as another skeleton pounced on him. Angrond intervened just in time to save the lizard-man - overpowering the creature before it could make the fatal blow. The spell seemed to wear off and the Argonian was beside the ranger again, fighting hordes upon hordes.

He looked up. The torch lit castle bridge - straight above the undead army - was now covered in the count's personal guard. They fired a hail of silver arrows down upon the necromancers, killing many before they hid further under the bridge, just out of bowshot. The ranger looked northwards to the smaller bridge. A small few skeletons had taken it and were firing stones and other projectile at the defenders above. Many more were making their way up the hill to the larger bridge, only to be pushed back by the count's guards. Looking even further northwards, Angrond saw a small group of wraiths and zombies. They had begun lifting planks and sticks out of a small hole in the ground and had begun to descend into it. The thought struck the woodsman's mind in a second - A secret passage. Someone had been helping them dig a tunnel underneath the town walls; leading into the town itself.

Angrond looked down, the gate had begun to give way and zombies' arms could be seen protruding from the wood. He grabbed the Argonian's arm and sprinted down the steps into the courtyard behind the gate. Mages were blasting the zombies backwards with invisible arrows as the guard held the gate. Then, a scream was heard behind them:  
"Undead! Undead in the town! They're coming from Nerasterel's house! Help, quick!" A young child came running to Angrond. "Come quick!" The two followed him to a large house near the higher East gate. "Look!" The boy pointed to a zombie wandering around in circles near the door, a wraith followed. The ranger rushed in and swung at the wraith, but all the blade seemed to do was pass through the shadowy figure of the ghost. "Silver" he thought, looking around. 

Near the gate a soldier lay, a silver longsword near his broken body. Angrond swooped it up and turned to face the wraith. The creature looked at him in the eye, the ranger's blue ones meeting the ghost's dark, black orbs. Angrond tried to swing, but he couldn't - it had transfixed him. Trying with all his might, he couldn't fight it. The ghost loomed forward; mouth stretched wide open, meaning to drain all of his strength. Then, in another flash of lightning, a blade passed through the wraith, blue-tinted by magic and covered with the blood of the undead. It was the Argonian. The ghost fell to the ground, forming into a shadowy substance. Angrond felt his energy come back.

The lizard looked at him and said;  
"You saved my life, now I've saved yours. Quick now, we must find how the creatures are getting in!" The two warriors walked into the house, back to back and pushed open the creaky door to the basement. The house was tore apart, like no-one had lived there for many years. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and in every corner. They descended the steps and walked further down the passage - following the croaky voices of the undead...


	14. Chapter Thirteen: A Journal

**Chapter Thirteen: A Journal **

Angrond and Ah-Malz the Argonian followed the hastily carved-out tunnel to a large hole in the rock at one side. They both climbed in to find a desk and chair in a small room. A quill and ink bottle lay beside rolls of parchment on the desk and many skulls hung by a rope from the ceiling. Angrond unrolled the parchment and read it aloud: 

_Entry 15 - 17th Rain's Hand,_

Mannimarco has been defeated, our cause lost.   
The Champion of Cyrodiil has defeated him in battle and put us all to shame.  
Arch-Mage, Pah! Committed suicide in fear of us, although I have heard the rumours.  
The Champion himself means to become their leader, and I don't doubt it. I hear he is a good mage.

It was the diary of the traitor Nerastarel. Angrond read on. Ah-Malz stood on watch at the door for any signs of undead. The ones they heard earlier seemed to have turned back and returned to the main army. 

_Entry 16 - 25th Rain's Hand,_

The rumours were true, the Champion has been crowned Arch-Mage.  
This is worse than I thought; he is a big threat to our existence. I must do something.  
I will think upon it in the coming days.

Entry 17 - 29th Rain's Hand,

Today is a good day, my old friend Rothvor has been crowned King of Worms.   
I am in Fort Vlastarus at the moment, writing this entry. It is nice here.  
I revel in the smell of dead flesh, the metallic taste of blood and the power held within these walls -  
It is evil in itself. We celebrate at the thought of a new king, someone to rid the world of the Mages Guild scum.

Entry 18 - 30th Rai... 

The rest of the parchment had been destroyed by ink. Angrond rolled up the remaining pieces of parchment and stuffed them in his backpack. The two warriors continued down the tunnel.

Now they could see it - a small ray of light shone through from the roof onto the dirt floor. They climbed up through it and looked back towards the town. Where once there lay the fairest town in Cyrodiil, now lay a smoking pile of rubble - only the castle was still standing. Shouts and screams rent the heavens asunder as the storm began to subside and the morning drew near.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Last Stand

**Chapter Fourteen: Last Stand**

The two men gazed at the ruin of Skingrad. Undead ran through the piles of rubble, screaming victoriously. They looked up at the castle, it was the only building left standing. How long had they been down there? How could this happen so fast? Thoughts raced through Angrond's head. However, he knew that if the castle still stood, so did men. He grabbed Ah-Malz by the arm and raced to the wall that he had been standing on when the battle started. He grabbed one of the grappling hooks that had seemly fallen to the ground and rolled it up.

He ran under the torch lit bridge, shouts could be heard from above - not undead, but the shouts of the count's personal guard. Angrond spun the rough hook over his head and threw it... It stuck fast on the bridge railing. They tied the other end to a nearby rock and began to climb. A great cheer smote the air; they must have driven them back, but for how long? The undead had way greater numbers; it would only be a matter of time before they broke through. Angrond reached the top first. The men looked in amazement as he clambered to his feet, closely followed by the Argonian. 

"Where were you when we needed you?" Asked one of the guards.  
"They have taken the town; this is our last stand, if we can't drive them back... Then it is lost." A guard captain approached Angrond. "You must help us fight them back, you're our only hope." Angrond looked into the air - the dawn was breaking. Angrond looked to the end of the bridge. The soldiers had managed to close the portcullis and the undead were bashing on it from the outside - only one choice remained - they were going to charge.

"Form up men! We're going to charge!" Angrond roared the battle orders at the guard.  
"But we'll surely die, milord!" Said another guard.  
"And you think we won't if we stay here? Only one choice now remains, and that is to charge. So, are you with me or what?"  
"I am milord...anything for Skingrad!" The man tucked away his bow and drew his sword.

"Wardens! Open the gate!" The steel portcullis slowly parted from the ground. The undead croaked and moaned behind the gate as Angrond drew his silver longsword. The portcullis opened fully and the undead began to push forward.   
"CHARGE!" Angrond and the guard surged towards them - crushing the first few undead to the ground. The wardens began loosing arrows at the necromancers behind as the defenders pushed the zombies backwards down the hill. Angrond was in the midst of the battle; lopping off heads and limbs. The necromancers began to retreat as the arrows pelted at them from the gate, tripping on their robes, they began running eastward to the refuge of Vlastarus. The zombies began to lose their balance and started rolling down the hill - tripping many other undead. The guard moved on down further and at last pushed the undead from the smaller bridge at the bottom of the hill. They began to follow their masters towards Vlastarus and to safety.

Some of the guard began finishing the last of the wounded undead and many others began searching the town and tracking down any stragglers. Angrond and Ah-Malz searched the South side and came upon a lone necromancer. He was staring at the body near his feet with a blank look on his face.  
"Why didn't you flee with your friends, necromancer? You have lost the battle, and will be punished." Angrond brought the point of his blade to the face of the man. He was silent. Angrond swung and decapitated him. His head rolled to the cobble as did a small golden square which had been in his hand.

Picking it up, Angrond noticed some words inscribed on it, they were of the ancient Nedic language that only the more learned Nords could read. Written on it was as follows:

_"The Last Key to the Prison of Wolfbane.  
In Oblivion he lives in Demon form,  
waiting to emerge from his Slumber."_


End file.
